The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  “Ken, I’ve been going to lick you all spring.”

  They went downstairs arm in arm.

  It was with great interest and curiosity that Ken looked about the cozy and comfortable rooms. The walls were adorned with pictures of varsity teams and players, and the college colors were much in evidence. College magazines and papers littered the table in the reading-room.

  “Boys, we’ll be pretty snug and nice here when things get to runnin’ smooth. The grub will be plain, but plenty of it.”

  There were twelve in all at the table, with the coach seated at the head. The boys were hungry, and besides, as they had as yet had no chance to become acquainted, the conversation lagged. The newness and strangeness, however, did not hide the general air of suppressed gratification. After dinner Worry called them all together in the reading-room.

  “Well, boys, here we are together like one big family, and we’re shut in for two months. Now, I know you’ve all been fightin’ for places on the team, and have had no chance to be friendly. It’s always that way in the beginnin’, and I dare say there’ll be some scraps among you before things straighten out. We’ll have more to say about that later. The thing now is you’re all varsity men, and I’m puttin’ you on your word of honor. Your word is good enough for me. Here’s my rules, and I’m more than usually particular this year, for reasons I’ll tell later.

  “You’re not to break trainin’. You’re not to eat anything anywhere but here. You’re to cut out cigarettes and drinks. You’re to be in bed at ten o’clock. And I advise, although I ain’t insistin’, that if you have any leisure time you’ll spend most of it here. That’s all.”

  For Ken the three days following passed as so many hours. He did not in the least dread the approaching game with State University, but his mind held scarcely anything outside of Arthurs’ coaching. The practice of the players had been wholly different. It was as if they had been freed from some binding spell. Worry kept them at fielding and batting for four full hours every afternoon. Ken, after pitching to Dean for a while, batted to the infield and so had opportunity to see the improvement. Graves was brilliant at third, Weir was steady and sure at short, Raymond seemed to have springs in his legs and pounced upon the ball with wonderful quickness, and McCord fielded all his chances successfully.

  On the afternoon of the game Worry waited at the training-house until all the players came downstairs in uniform.

  “Boys, what’s happened in the past doesn’t count. We start over today. I’m not goin’ to say much or confuse you with complex team coachin’. But I’m hopeful. I sort of think there’s a nigger in the woodpile. I’ll tell you tonight if I’m right. Think of how you have been roasted by the students. Play like tigers. Put out of your mind everything but tryin’. Nothin’ counts for you, boys. Errors are nothin’; mistakes are nothin’. Play the game as one man. Don’t think of yourselves. You all know when you ought to hit or bunt or run. I’m trustin’ you. I won’t say a word from the bench. And don’t underrate our chances. Remember that I think it’s possible we may have somethin’ up our sleeves. That’s all from me till after the game.”

  Worry walked to Grant Field with Ken. He talked as they went along, but not on baseball. The State team was already out and practising. Worry kept Ken near him on the bench and closely watched the visitors in practice. When the gong rang to call them in he sent his players out, with a remark to Ken to take his warming-up easily. Ken thought he had hardly warmed up at all before the coach called him in.

  “Peg, listen!” he whispered. His gaze seemed to hypnotize Ken. “Do you have any idea what you’ll do to this bunch from State?”

  “Why—no—I—”

  “Listen! I tell you I know they won’t be able to touch you.… Size up batters in your own way. If they look as if they’d pull or chop on a curve, hand it up. If not, peg ’em a straight one over the inside corner, high. If you get in a hole with runners on bases use that fast jump ball, as hard as you can drive it, right over the pan.… Go in with perfect confidence. I wouldn’t say that to you, Peg, if I didn’t feel it myself, honestly. I’d say for you to do your best. But I’ve sized up these State fellows, and they won’t be able to touch you. Remember what I say. That’s all.”

  “I’ll remember,” said Ken, soberly.

  When the umpire called the game there were perhaps fifty students in the bleachers and a few spectators in the grand-stand, so poor an attendance that the State players loudly voiced their derision.

  “Hey! boys,” yelled one, “we drew a crowd last year, and look at that!”

  “It’s Wayne’s dub team,” replied another. They ran upon the field as if the result of the game was a foregone conclusion. Their pitcher, a lanky individual, handled the ball with assurance.

  Homans led off for Wayne. He stood left-handed at the plate, and held his bat almost in the middle. He did not swing, but poked at the first ball pitched and placed a short hit over third. Raymond, also left-handed, came next, and, letting two balls go, he bunted the third. Running fast, he slid into first base and beat the throw. Homans kept swiftly on toward third, drew the throw, and, sliding, was also safe. It was fast work, and the Wayne players seemed to rise off the bench with the significance of the play. Worry Arthurs looked on from under the brim of his hat, and spoke no word. Then Reddy Ray stepped up.

  “They’re all left-handed!” shouted a State player. The pitcher looked at Reddy, then motioned for his outfielders to play deeper. With that he delivered the ball, which the umpire called a strike. Reddy stood still and straight while two more balls sped by, then he swung on the next. A vicious low hit cut out over first base and skipped in great bounds to the fence. Homans scored. Raymond turned second, going fast. But it was Ray’s speed that electrified the watching players. They jumped up cheering.

  “Oh, see him run!” yelled Ken.

  He was on third before Raymond reached the plate. Weir lifted a high fly to left field, and when the ball dropped into the fielder’s hands Ray ran home on the throw-in. Three runs had been scored in a twinkling. It amazed the State team. They were not slow in bandying remarks among themselves. “Fast! Who’s that red-head? Is this your dub team? Get in the game, boys!” They began to think more of playing ball and less of their own superiority. Graves, however, and McCord following him, went out upon plays to the infield.

  As Ken walked out toward the pitcher’s box Homans put a hand on his arm, and said: “Kid, put them all over. Don’t waste any. Make every batter hit. Keep your nerve. We’re back of you out here.” Then Reddy Ray, in passing, spoke with a cool, quiet faith that thrilled Ken, “Peg, we’ve got enough runs now to win.”

  Ken faced the plate all in a white glow. He was far from calmness, but it was a restless, fiery hurry for the action of the game. He remembered the look in Worry’s eyes, and every word that he had spoken rang in his ears. Receiving the ball from the umpire, he stepped upon the slab with a sudden, strange, deep tremor. It passed as quickly, and then he was eying the first batter. He drew a long breath, standing motionless, with all the significance of Worry’s hope flashing before him, and then he whirled and delivered the ball. The batter struck at it after it had passed him, and it cracked in Dean’s mitt.

  “Speed!” called the State captain. “Quick eye, there!”

  The batter growled some unintelligible reply. Then he fouled the second ball, missed the next, and was out. The succeeding State player hit an easy fly to Homans, and the next had two strikes called upon him, and swung vainly at the third.

  Dean got a base on balls for Wayne, Trace went out trying to bunt, and Ken hit into short, forcing Dean at second. Homans lined to third, retiring the side. The best that the State players could do in their half was for one man to send a weak grounder to Raymond, one to fly out, and the other to fail on strikes. Wayne went to bat again, and Raymond got his base by being hit by a pitched ball. Reddy Ray bunted and was safe. Weir struck out. Graves rapped a safety through short, scoring Raymond, and sending R
ay to third. Then McCord fouled out to the catcher. Again, in State’s inning, they failed to get on base, being unable to hit Ken effectively.

  So the game progressed, State slowly losing its aggressive playing, and Wayne gaining what its opponents had lost. In the sixth Homans reached his base on an error, stole second, went to third on Raymond’s sacrifice, and scored on Reddy’s drive to right. State flashed up in their half, getting two men to first on misplays of McCord and Weir, and scored a run on a slow hit to Graves.

  With the bases full, Ken let his arm out and pitched the fast ball at the limit of his speed. The State batters were helpless before it, but they scored two runs on passed strikes by Dean. The little catcher had a hard time judging Ken’s jump ball. That ended the run-getting for State, though they came near scoring again on more fumbling in the infield. In the eighth Ken landed a safe fly over second, and tallied on a double by Homans.

  Before Ken knew the game was half over it had ended—Wayne 6, State 3. His players crowded around him and someone called for the Wayne yell. It was given with wild vehemence.

  From that moment until dinner was over at the training-house Ken appeared to be the centre of a humming circle. What was said and done he never remembered. Then the coach stopped the excitement.

  “Boys, now for a heart-to-heart talk,” he said, with a smile both happy and grave. “We won today, as I predicted. State had a fairly strong team, but if Ward had received perfect support they would not have got a man beyond second. That’s the only personal mention I’ll make. Now, listen.…”

  He paused, with his eyes glinting brightly and his jaw quivering.

  “I expected to win, but before the game I never dreamed of our possibilities. I got a glimpse now of what hard work and a demon spirit to play together might make this team. I’ve had an inspiration. We are goin’ to beat Herne and play Place to a standstill.”

  Not a boy moved an eyelash as Arthurs made this statement, and the sound of a pin dropping could have been heard.

  “To do that we must pull together as no boys ever pulled together before. We must be all one heart. We must be actuated by one spirit. Listen! If you will stick together and to me, I’ll make a team that will be a wonder. Never the hittin’ team as good as last year’s varsity, but a faster team, a finer machine. Think of that! Think of how we have been treated this year! For that we’ll win all the greater glory. It’s worth all there is in you, boys. You would have the proudest record of any team that ever played for old Wayne.

  “I love the old college, boys, and I’ve given it the best years of my life. If it’s anything to you, why, understand that if I fail to build up a good team this year I shall be let go by those directors who have made the change in athletics. I could stand that, but—I’ve a boy of my own who’s preparin’ for Wayne, and my heart is set on seein’ him enter—and he said he never will if they let me go. So, you youngsters and me—we’ve much to gain. Go to your rooms now and think, think as you never did before, until the spirit of this thing, the possibility of it, grips you as it has me.”

  KEN CLASHES WITH GRAVES

  Two weeks after the contest with State University four more games with minor colleges had been played and won by Wayne. Hour by hour the coach had drilled the players; day by day the grilling practice told in quickening grasp of team-play, in gradual correction of erratic fielding and wild throwing. Every game a few more students attended, reluctantly, in half-hearted manner.

  “We’re comin’ with a rush,” said Worry to Ken. “Say, but Dale and the old gang have a surprise in store for ’em! And the students—they’re goin’ to drop dead pretty soon.… Peg, Murray tells me he’s puttin’ weight on you.”

  “Why, yes, it’s the funniest thing,” replied Ken. “Today I weighed one hundred and sixty-four. Worry, I’m afraid I’m getting fat.”

  “Fat, nothin’,” snorted Worry. “It’s muscle. I told Murray to put beef on you all he can. Pretty soon you’ll be able to peg a ball through the back-stop. Dean’s too light, Peg. He’s plucky and will make a catcher, but he’s too light. You’re batterin’ him all up.”

  Worry shook his head seriously.

  “Oh, he’s fine!” exclaimed Ken. “I’m not afraid any more. He digs my drop out of the dust, and I can’t get a curve away from him. He’s weak only on the jump ball, and I don’t throw that often, only when I let drive.”

  “You’ll be usin’ that often enough against Herne and Place. I’m dependin’ on that for those games. Peg, are you worryin’ any, losin’ any sleep, over those games?”

  “Indeed I’m not,” replied Ken, laughing.

  “Say, I wish you’d have a balloon ascension, and have it quick. It ain’t natural, Peg, for you not to get a case of rattles. It’s comin’ to you, and I don’t want it in any of the big games.”

  “I don’t want it either. But Worry, pitching is all a matter of control, you say so often. I don’t believe I could get wild and lose my control if I tried.”

  “Peg, you sure have the best control of any pitcher I ever coached. It’s your success. It’ll make a great pitcher out of you. All you’ve got to learn is where to pitch ’em to Herne and Place.”

  “How am I to learn that?”

  “Listen!” Worry whispered. “I’m goin’ to send you to Washington next week to see Place and Herne play Georgetown. You’ll pay your little money and sit in the grand-stand right behind the catcher. You’ll have a pencil and a score card, and you’ll be enjoyin’ the game. But, Peg, you’ll also be usin’ your head, and when you see one of ’em players pull away on a curve, or hit weak on a drop, or miss a high fast one, or slug a low ball, you will jot it down on your card. You’ll watch Place’s hard hitters with hawk eyes, my boy, and a pitcher’s memory. And when they come along to Grant Field you’ll have ’em pretty well sized up.”

  “That’s fine, Worry, but is it fair?” queried Ken.

  “Fair? Why, of course. They all do it. We saw Place’s captain in the grand-stand here last spring.”

  The coach made no secret of his pride and faith in Ken. It was this, perhaps, as much as anything, which kept Ken keyed up. For Ken was really pitching better ball than he knew how to pitch. He would have broken his arm for Worry; he believed absolutely in what the coach told him; he did not think of himself at all.

  Worry, however, had plenty of enthusiasm for his other players. Every evening after dinner he would call them all about him and talk for an hour. Sometimes he would tell funny baseball stories; again, he told of famous Wayne-Place games, and how they had been won or lost; then at other times he dwelt on the merits and faults of his own team. In speaking of the swift development of this year’s varsity he said it was as remarkable as it had been unforeseen. He claimed it would be a bewildering surprise to Wayne students and to the big college teams. He was working toward the perfection of a fast run-getting machine. In the five games already played and won a good idea could be gotten of Wayne’s team, individually and collectively. Homans was a scientific short-field hitter and remarkably sure. Raymond could not bat, but he had developed into a wonder in reaching first base, by bunt or base on balls, or being hit. Reddy Ray was a hard and timely batter, and when he got on base his wonderful fleetness made him almost sure to score. Of the other players Graves batted the best; but taking the team as a whole, and comparing them with Place or Herne, it appeared that Reddy and Homans were the only great hitters, and the two of them, of course, could not make a great hitting team. In fielding, however, the coach said he had never seen the like. They were all fast, and Homans was perfect in judgment on fly balls, and Raymond was quick as lightning to knock down base hits, and as to the intercollegiate sprinter in left field, it was simply a breath-taking event to see him run after a ball. Last of all was Ken Ward with his great arm. It was a strangely assorted team, Worry said, one impossible to judge at the moment, but it was one to watch.

  “Boys, we’re comin’ with a rush,” he went on to say. “But somethin’s holdin’ us back
a little. There’s no lack of harmony, yet there’s a drag. In spite of the spirit you’ve shown—and I want to say it’s been great—the team doesn’t work together as one man all the time. I advise you all to stick closer together. Stay away from the club, and everywhere except lectures. We’ve got to be closer ’n brothers. It’ll all work out right before we go up against Herne in June. That game’s comin’, boys, and by that time the old college will be crazy. It’ll be our turn then.”

  Worry’s talks always sank deeply into Ken’s mind and set him to thinking and revolving over and over the gist of them so that he could remember to his profit.

  He knew that some of the boys had broken training, and he pondered if that was what caused the drag Worry mentioned. Ken had come to feel the life and fortunes of the varsity so keenly that he realized how the simplest deviations from honor might affect the smooth running of the team. It must be perfectly smooth. And to make it so every player must be of one mind.

  Ken proved to himself how lack of the highest spirit on the part of one or two of the team tended toward the lowering of the general spirit. For he began to worry, and almost at once it influenced his playing. He found himself growing watchful of his comrades and fearful of what they might be doing. He caught himself being ashamed of his suspicions. He would as lief have cut off his hand as break his promise to the coach. Perhaps, however, he exaggerated his feeling and sense of duty. He remembered the scene in Dale’s room the night he refused to smoke and drink; how Dale had commended his refusal. Nevertheless, he gathered from Dale’s remark to Worry that breaking training was not unusual or particularly harmful.

  “With Dale’s team it might not have been so bad,” thought Ken. “But it’s different with us. We’ve got to make up in spirit what we lack in ability.”

  Weir and McCord occupied the room next to Ken’s, and Graves and Trace, rooming together, were also on that floor. Ken had tried with all his might to feel friendly toward the third-baseman. He had caught Graves carrying cake and pie to his room and smoking cigarettes with the window open. One night Graves took cigarettes from his pocket and offered them to Kel, Trace, and Ken, who all happened to be in Ken’s room at the time. Trace readily accepted; Kel demurred at first, but finally took one. Graves then tossed the pack to Ken.